Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: New poll on my profile. This time, I'd like to know who you want to see in the final four. Not who you think will be there, but who you would like to see make it that far. Again, read the chapter first because any tributes who die in this chapter won't be included in the poll.

Day Three
To Deal Out Death

Lander Katz
District Eight Mentor

Just kill him, Nicoline.

Lander sat with Aron and Glenn, eyes glued to the screen. Glenn had tears in his eyes, and Lander, in spite of himself, was wringing his hands anxiously, willing Nicoline to use the knife she and Pike had taken from Angus. The boy was still unconscious. An easy kill. A quick, painless kill.

The best sort of death you could hope for in the Games.

And yet Nicoline and Pike hesitated, Nicoline kneeling beside Angus with the knife, Pike pacing uneasily. "She's too scared to do it," Lander sighed, shaking his head. "I knew she would be. I knew it."

Aron shook his head. "No. Of course she's afraid. Who wouldn't be? But that's not why she's hesitating."

"Then why?" Lander asked.

"Pity," Aron said calmly. "A few moments ago, Angus was a ruthless killer. Now he's just like them – young, small, helpless. She pities him, Lander, and there's no shame in that. Courage – real courage – is in knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one."

Lander shook his head. "That's all well and good when you're sitting out here, Gramps. But that sort of nobility doesn't help you in the Games. In there, it's kill or be killed. You win or you die. There are no heroes. There is no moral high ground. The only way out of that arena is with blood on your hands."

But even as he said it, Lander knew the boy sitting next to him was a reminder that it wasn't quite true. Glenn had made it through the Games without taking a single life. But he also knew that the Gamemakers would never let that happen again. Once was one time too many, and the Gamemaker who had been foolish enough to allow it was dead.

"Zero," Nicoline had said, and then told him it was the number of people she was going to kill. One, Lander thought silently. Just one.

Three years ago, he had told himself the same thing.

Nicoline Peters, 13
District Eight Female

"Let's go, Nicoline."

Pike's voice was quiet, as if he were afraid he might wake Angus if he spoke too loudly. Which was possible. Maybe he was already awake. Maybe he was only pretending to be unconscious, waiting for her to turn her back. Waiting for her to let her guard down.

Nicoline glanced at Libby's body. She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she should be angry. She should want revenge. She should hate the boy lying in front of her. But all she felt was sad. Sad and scared. Scared that she might be next. Or Pike could be next.

Or it could be Angus.

He could be next. She could do it. Right here. Right now. Maybe Pike wouldn't agree, but he wouldn't stop her. Couldn't stop her. Not if she was quick.

"You think we should kill him," Pike said quietly, joining her.

Should? No. She shouldn't be killing anyone. She'd promised. She should be at home, safe with her family. She should be asleep in her own bed, not here. Not in some dark cave beneath tons of rock. "None of us should," she said, shaking her head. "None of us should even be here. But we are."

Pike nodded. "We are." He took a deep breath. "If we're going to do it, we should do it quickly."

Nicoline looked up, shocked. "We?"

Pike nodded. "We're allies, aren't we?" He laid a hand on hers, helping her grip the knife. "So … how do we do this?"

Nicoline hesitated. She remembered something. Something the Gamemaker had said during her private session. Something she had never imagined she would have to do. Stick 'em with the pointy end, he had said.

Without another word, she moved her hand towards Angus' throat, and she and Pike drove the knife in deep. When she pulled it out, it was covered in red. Angus' breathing became an odd gurgling noise, and finally stopped. A moment later, there was a cannon. Nicoline buried her face in Pike's shoulder, only to find he was doing the same. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay. We're safe. We're okay."

And, to her surprise, she did feel okay. She didn't feel like a killer. She just felt tired. Very tired. And still afraid. "Let's get out of here," she suggested. "Go on a little, find somewhere else to spend the night. I don't think I could sleep just yet, anyways." As much as she wanted to sleep, she knew she wouldn't be able to do it here.

Pike nodded. "Okay." But before they left, he knelt beside Libby's body and gently closed her eyes. "Goodbye, Libby," he whispered.

"Goodbye," Nicoline repeated, then turned and followed Pike out of the main chamber.

After maybe half an hour, the path forked in front of them, each path leading through one of three archways – the one to the right climbing steeply upwards, the one to the left leading down a flight of stairs, and the one in the middle way, particularly narrow, running smooth and level into the dark. "Which way?" Pike asked.

Nicoline shook her head. "Let's get some sleep first, and then choose."

Pike nodded. "All right. I'll take the first watch."

Nicoline hesitated, but finally nodded. Pike looked like he might nod off any second, but she was so tired. She closed her eyes.

In less than a minute, she was asleep.

Abstract Calls, 18
District One Female

Three cannons.

Three cannons so far that night. Three opponents down. Nestled safely inside a cave, Abstract smiled. Now she could get some sleep. The audience would be more than satisfied for the time being. The Gamemakers wouldn't trouble her now.

Tomorrow, maybe, she would make her move. The large alliance at the Cornucopia had already lost one ally, and Abstract had watched enough Games to know that sort of thing led to tension within alliances. Fingers would be pointed, doubts would start to rise, trust would be strained. She could wait until they were vulnerable, fighting among themselves, and then make her move.

And who knew? Maybe one of the cannons belonged to someone from their group. Maybe all three did. No, three was probably too much to hope for, but one? Maybe two? That would weaken them even further.

Abstract smiled. There were still more of them, of course, but none of them had her training. Her control. They thought their numbers would save them, but the truth was that one well-trained tribute could easily match three or four untrained, undisciplined teenagers. And that's what they were, in the end. They were children. She was a warrior.

Suddenly, Abstract heard a rustling noise from a tunnel off to her left. She leapt to her feet, knives drawn in an instant. One of the other tributes? But who would be traveling through the caves at night? Of course, deeper in, it was darker – no way to tell day from night. Had someone lost track of time, or gotten lost? Or did they think that night would be a safer time to leave the caves, because other tributes would be sleeping?

The noise grew louder, and Abstract drew closer, braced to attack whoever or whatever emerged from the tunnel. Finally, she saw a shape, but it was too dark to tell what it was. Instinctively, she threw a knife.

But, as it found its target, the sound that echoed through the cave wasn't human.

Abstract backed away slowly, finally able to see the creature. It was a spider, but easily taller than her, its body filling the tunnel, barely able to crawl through. Abstract stared. What were the Gamemakers doing? Surely there had been enough action already that night.

Maybe they were disappointed with her. The killer from District One who was sitting around in a cave, waiting for the tributes to come to her. Maybe there were no tributes left in the caves, and they were trying to send her a message. Maybe they were trying to drive her somewhere else – right into the heart of the larger alliance, perhaps.

Well, it wouldn't work.

Abstract stood her ground as the spider charged. Then, as it drew nearer, she ducked, striking at the creature's legs as it passed, missing the blow from its fangs that had been meant for her. The spider roared in pain but doubled back and came at her again. She threw a knife, but that didn't seem to bother it – it only made it mad.

In some distant corner of her mind, she knew she should run. Find a tunnel it wouldn't fit through and take cover. But what good would that do? How long could she stay there, waiting for it to leave? No. No, if she was going to go, she wouldn't die starving in some cave, crouching in fear of what might attack her if she left. She was going to go down fighting.

Abstract drew another knife and charged.

Wulfric Harding, 18
District Ten Male

Three cannons.

Three cannons so far that night. Wulfric shivered in the cold of the mountains, fingering a rock he had sharpened into a weapon, wondering. Hoping none of the cannons had belonged to Libby or Nicoline or Pike. Or all three of them. No, they couldn't be, he tried to tell himself. The cannons had been spaced too far apart. If they had been attacked, they would have died together. Helping each other.

And wondering why he wasn't there to save them.

He had reached the other side of the mountains now, and had found a place to spend the night near the entrances that led to the caves. Maybe tomorrow, he would go looking. Try to find them. And hope it wasn't too late.

Wulfric shook the thought from his head. He'd done his best, after all. Tried to protect them from the eagles. Gotten them to the caves safely. But there was only so much to do. He could only protect them for so long. He'd known that when he'd decided to join them, but it still hurt. And part of him was still fighting it.

Suddenly, he heard a scream.

Without thinking, Wulfric leapt from his hiding place and raced into the caves in the direction of the scream. He didn't have to go far. As the cave widened, he saw a spider – a humongous, disgusting spider. But it didn't see him. Its attention was focused on its victim, whom it was steadily wrapping in a layer of gooey silk.

He knew he should run. There was probably nothing he could do. The poor tribute was probably already dead – or would be soon, since he'd heard no cannon since the scream. The body was one of the older tributes – he could see that from this distance. Maybe Libby. Maybe the other two were hiding somewhere. Maybe they were dead.

Wulfric took a deep breath. He didn't have to kill the beast. Just wound it enough to make it retreat, long enough for him to drag the body into one of the tunnels. There were a few that looked too small for the spider. It was a decent plan. And the spider still hadn't seen him.

He crept closer. The spider was still crouched down, hunched over its victim. Wulfric braced himself, then leapt up onto the creature's back. The spider screeched in surprise and shook violently beneath him, but Wulfric held on. Here, on its back, he was safe from its fangs.

As long as he didn't let go.

The spider lurched and bucked beneath him. Wulfric knew he couldn't hold on forever. Letting go with one hand, he gripped his sharpened rock in the other and drove it into what looked like a softer spot near the base of the spider's neck. The spider screeched, but Wuflric struck again, his rock black with the spider's blood. Again, he struck, and once more, but then the spider gave a sudden jolt, and he was thrown.

He landed on his side, knocking the breath from his lungs. For a moment, he lay there, certain the spider would come at him, but, giving another shriek, it disappeared into one of the tunnels. Wulfric lay back for a moment, relieved, wondering, in some corner of his mind, why the Gamemakers had decided to call the spider off.

Slowly, he got to his feet and made his way over to the body, still wrapped in the spider's silk. Using his stone, he cut away a bit of the covering near what appeared to be the face, hoping to see his district partner, hoping she was alive.

But the face he uncovered wasn't Libby's. It belonged to the girl from District One. Abstract.

Vaguely, Wulfric realized this was why the spider had given up so easily, probably why it had attacked in the first place. They had been drawing him here, to see what he would do. Maybe hoping he would kill her. Maybe hoping she would wake and kill him.

Which was a possibility. She was still breathing. But, for the moment, still helpless. Still wrapped tightly in silk, defenseless. He could do it. Take out possibly the greatest threat in the Games. Just like he had done to Husk.

But Husk had attacked Libby. This girl had done nothing to him or his allies.

His allies. What would they do? Libby, Nicoline, Pike – they would never kill an unarmed, defenseless opponent in their sleep. Not that he could really picture them killing anyone, but certainly not like this.

Not like this.

Wulfric hesitated for a moment, but then cut away the rest of the silk and carefully dragged the girl into one of the smaller tunnels. Then, after collecting a few knives that lay scattered around the area – undoubtedly Abstract's, but she probably had more hidden away somewhere – he headed off into one of the tunnels, listening for any sound, any hint of movement.

Looking for his allies.

Brie Fallyn, 17
District Five Female

Three cannons.

The first had woken the group, and the others had discovered Sher's absence. After the third one, Zione had shrugged and gone back to sleep. "Well, wherever he is, he clearly knows what he's doing." Kiona quickly followed his lead, apparently unconcerned.

Now keeping watch, Brie hoped they were right. Hoped that the three cannons had been part of Sher's plan, whatever that was. But when had Sher earned that sort of trust from Zione? Or maybe Zione simply didn't care, and was glad to be rid of their rather odd ally, one way or another.

"He'll be fine," Sterling said reassuringly. "Come morning, he'll be back here, building towers out of our supplies and rambling about mutant bunnies."

Brie nodded, hoping he was right. She didn't say what both of them were thinking: that, eventually, if either of them was going to win, Sher would have to die. Kiona and Zione would have to die. Every other tribute in the arena would have to die.

The chances seemed so small, now that she thought about it. What had she been thinking? Had she really thought that she could volunteer, go into the arena, kill everyone else, and ride home on a white horse to save Jai? Stupid. She'd been so stupid, to think she had a chance. To think she would be able to kill these people lying next to her without a second thought. To think she could go home, and expect everything to be the way it was.

It took her a moment to realize that she was crying, and that Sterling had an arm around her. "It's okay," he said gently. "It's okay. We'll get through this. It'll be all right."

Brie shook her head. "But it won't. We can't both get through this. Probably neither one of us will. We can't all win. We can't…" She was sobbing now, and shivering in the cold. Sterling wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

"You're right," he said at last. "We can't all win. And I want to go home more than anything, but … but if I can't – if I die – then I want you to win."

Brie looked up through tears. "Me? Really?"

Sterling nodded. "What you did for Jai – that was brave. Noble. Good. If Abi could tell Bailey that somebody good won the Games – someone who deserved it, someone who had a reason to come home, even if it wasn't me – that would be enough. And maybe then, even without me, Bailey might grow up to be as brave and as good as you."

Brie wiped the tears from her eyes. "Thank you, Sterling. And if I … if I can't win, then I want it to be you."

Sterling smiled. "I guess that's as close to 'friends' as you can get in the Games, huh?"

Brie looked up, surprised, but then nodded. "I guess so."

And, for the moment, it was enough.

Aldo Retchwood, 16
District Twelve Male

It looked like Harakuise hadn't slept a wink all night.

The sun was beginning to rise over the swamp, and the boy was still awake, holding Sher's backpack, staring out into the distance, completely lost in thought. He'd been oddly subdued since Sher's death, almost completely oblivious to the two other cannons that had fired during the night, cannons that had woken Aldo with a start. Equinox, on the other hand, had slept straight through them.

At last, Equinox sat up sleepily. "How about some breakfast, Harakuise? What's in that backpack?"

That seemed to snap Harakuise out of his trance. Slowly, as if he thought it might explode, he opened the backpack and dumped its contents on the ground. There were three water bottles, some dried meat, a few packs of crackers, and three knives. Aldo shrugged. "Could've been worse."

Harakuise nodded. "Yes, it could have. He could have rigged it to explode when we opened it."

Equinox shrugged. "Why would he do that? What if you'd opened it when he gave it to you? He would have been killed, too."

Harakuise nodded. "That was probably one of the thirteen scenarios."

Aldo shrugged. It didn't matter now. The bag hadn't exploded. They were still alive. And Sher was dead. That was what mattered.

They ate a few of the crackers for breakfast. Harakuise took the water bottles and one of the knives, in addition to the one he had used to kill Sher, which he kept tucked in his belt. "I'm going to go fill these. You two stay here."

"Gladly," Equinox mumbled once Harakuise was out of earshot. "I wouldn't want to be alone with that kid."

Aldo nodded. "Me, neither. But he still needs us."

"That's what Sher thought," Equinox pointed out.

"That's different. We're his allies."

"For how long?"

"Until the other tributes are all gone, I suppose. Skinny little kid like him doesn't stand a chance on his own." He eyed Equinox for a moment. "But if you're so worried about what he might do, why don't you just kill him? He's no match for you in a fight."

"Because then I'd just have you," Equinox replied bluntly. "And I don't know how good you are in a fight. Harakuise just showed us he's prepared to kill, and, if it comes to a fight against the larger alliance down there, I'd rather have someone at my side who I know is prepared to do whatever it takes."

Aldo clenched his fists. He was prepared to do whatever it took, too. But, before he could say anything, there was a soft pinging noise high above their heads, and a parachute landed in the swamp, about a hundred meters away.

Equinox smiled wryly. "Looks like Daddy sent you something."

It took all of Aldo's self-control not to take a swing at the boy laughing beside him. "He's not my father! And how do you know it's not for you?"

Equinox shrugged. "From Vester? You're kidding, right? He'll have all his attention on Kiona – he knows she's the better bet. He's been ignoring me since the train rides. Trust me, it's yours."

Aldo gritted his teeth. He certainly didn't want anything from Pardeck. But, then again, it wasn't really from him. Sponsors had paid for it – Pardeck was just the one who gave them the go-ahead. So he wasn't really accepting help from Pardeck. And he needed all the help he could get.

Reluctantly, Aldo headed out into the marsh. They'd been keeping to the edges as much as possible, except when they had ventured out in search of food, although there didn't seem to be any. The parachute let off a faint glow in the early morning light. Aldo followed it, and at last came to a sopping wet patch of marsh.

But, as he reached down to pick up the package, he saw a face in the water. A face that belonged to a man in a Peacekeeper's uniform. Then two. Then three. They were laughing. Pointing. Taunting him.

No, not him. His family. His mother. One of the bodies reached up to grab him, and Aldo struck out in terror and anger, lashing out at the skeletal figure. But the hand gripped his ankle, undeterred, and another hand joined it. Grabbing. Dragging him under. "Equinox!" Aldo called in desperation. "Equinox! Help!"

But, even as he said it, he knew Equinox wouldn't come. Wouldn't risk his own life to save him. Thrashing, Aldo fought as the bodies dragged him farther, dragged his legs under the water. Another skeletal hand caught his wrist as he lashed out, then another. Aldo gasped for breath, but, even as he did, his head was pulled under. The sickening taste of the marsh water filled his mouth. Filled his lungs. Distantly, as if in a dream, he could feel his arms and legs grow tired, and he stopped flailing. He felt lightheaded, dizzy. Everything went black.

A moment later, as Equinox still stared at the surface of the marsh where Aldo had disappeared, the cannon fired.

Pike Carter, 12
District Six Male

"Thirteen," Nicoline said quietly.

Pike nodded. The cannon had woken him, but he hadn't been sleeping well, anyway, and, from the sound of it, Nicoline hadn't gotten much sleep, either. "Thirteen," he agreed. "Eleven of us left." He was trying hard, for Nicoline's sake, to hide the amazement in his voice. To hide the fact that he had never expected to get this far, that he hadn't expected – not really – to live through a single night in the arena, let alone two.

"Maybe we should move on," Nicoline suggested. "If we're not going to be able to get any sleep, we should try to find somewhere where there's more food, or maybe some water."

Pike nodded. That sounded good. Or, at least, better than staying here in the dark, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for someone – or something – to find them.

Better to go find it.

"Which way?" he asked, though he knew Nicoline probably had no more idea than he did. Neither of them was used to underground tunnels. Other than having some vague sense of which direction they had come from, he was completely lost, and had no idea whether they had gone up or down, and which way they would need to go in order to come out the other side.

"Right, maybe?" Nicoline suggested, pointing to the path that led up. Pike nodded his consent. Her guess was just as good as his, and up sounded good to him, too.

After a few hours, however, he was beginning to regret that decision. The stairs continued to climb upward, and his legs ached. Still, they kept going, because that seemed like a better idea than staying still, and neither of them wanted to turn back. So on they went in the dark, hoping their presence would continue to go unnoticed by anything that lurked in the shadows.

Just as Pike thought his legs would give way beneath him, the path leveled out, and the pair of them collapsed, exhausted. "Let's rest a while," Pike suggested, though it didn't really need saying. They were both so tired. Stopping for a little while couldn't hurt.

Then there was a sound.

He thought it was a cannon, at first, but it wasn't quite loud enough. And it sounded more distant – as if it were coming from deep underground, or perhaps far behind them. And it wasn't just one boom, but a slow, steady rhythm, deep and echoing through the halls. Almost like…

"A drum," Nicoline whispered.

It was ridiculous, of course. Who would be playing a drum in the arena? But, nonetheless, that was exactly what it sounded like. And, the longer it kept going, the louder it got. The closer it sounded. Pike scrambled to his feet, grabbed Nicoline's hand, and said what they were both thinking.

"Run."

Pardeck Krell
District Twelve Mentor

Stupid.

He wasn't sure who was stupider – the Gamemakers for landing the parachute so far away from Aldo, or Aldo for going out onto the marsh to get it. Or maybe the Gamemakers had done it on purpose, luring Aldo out onto the marsh so that the skeleton things could take him down.

Part of him wished he'd thought of that.

"I'm sorry," said a quiet voice behind him. Aron, as infernally polite as ever. This was the Hunger Games. You weren't supposed to apologize when another mentor's tribute died. You were supposed to be glad yours were still alive.

Pardeck shrugged. "Looks like I'll be back next year. And the others, too," he added, meaning Nerond and Mayberry. And probably Aron, as well, considering his only remaining tribute was a scared little twelve-year-old running for his life from some sort of drumming noise.

Aron sat down beside him. "What did you send him – Aldo?"

Pardeck shrugged. "It doesn't matter now, does it."

"I suppose not," Aron agreed. "But what was it?"

"It was just a bit of food, in case they ran out, or in case he decided to be smart and strike out on his own away from the other two. They were going to kill him soon, anyways."

That's what he kept telling himself. He would have died soon, anyways. It was a miracle the boy had made it as far as he did. Now he was gone. Pardeck wouldn't have to think about him any more. He could forget that he had ever seen the boy's face. He could forget these Games and go back to mentoring as he normally did.

Now he could forget.

Aron shook his head. "I'm sorry you didn't learn sooner – that he was your son."

"He wasn't my son!" Pardeck snapped. And he wasn't. That idiot boy who had been killed by skeletons, of all things, was not his son. His son – if he had one – would have been smarter than that. Would have been stronger than that. Would have known better.

But he didn't have a son.

"Do not be too eager to deal out death in the name of justice, fearing for your own safety. Even the wise cannot see all ends."